Too Lame For a Title
by Vermillion Lies
Summary: Axel's just a liar, professionally. Roxas is his own puppet master. Larxene lives life like a pingpong ball. Namine's the quiet kid who's going to snap one day. Shh, Marluxia's only a dream. Zexion likes to watch the puppets dance. Quirky. title changed.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Kingdom Hearts, and I never will, nor do I want to. This is the last disclaimer I'll write for this story.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Of Artists and Lovers **

People often told her she was bitchy. Generally, they made it into a nonchalant add-on, "Blah-blah-blah, bitch."

They didn't mean it in an affectionate way.

Other times, they would yell it, "Bitch!" or "Stupid bitch!" Whatever. It amounted to the same thing.

Occasionally, they would make it a _Revelation_. She wasn't sure why the 'r' was capitalized, but it made sense, somehow. She preferred this way; she could laugh about it later.

They'd stare at her, eyes wide, and say in this breathy, shocked voice "You are _such_ a bitch."

She would just laugh and pat them on the head.

Larxene didn't call it bitchiness, she called it self-sufficiency.

* * *

"Oh, c'mon, it'll be fine. We're both girls, aren't we?" the redhead chides and cajoles. 

Her blonde companion squirmed uncomfortably, bare shoulders too hot in the summer heat and her friends' scrutiny.

"I mean, like," the redhead continues, "it'd be _weird_ if one of us was a guy, right? You know, looking at us like _that_. But we're both girls so it's fine. Right?"

"Um, Kairi, I… there's something I should tell you. I-I…" the blonde's sentence falters uncertainly, lies dead on the scorching concrete, abandoned as the girls continue walking. The blonde's mouth works desperately, she wants the words to come out so badly. They are obstinate. "I-I… I used to be a man, so-so-" The blonde stops dead at the sight of Kairi's amused smile.

"Oh, Naminé, I knew it all along," she teases. Smile drooping she adds, "You're delivery was a little off."

Naminé sighs and adjust the strap of her messenger bag, "I was going for the hesitant but uncertain thing."

Kairi shrugs, "I dunno. I always fancied the undercover spy delivery for false confessions."

Naminé bites her lip and smiles, uncertain whether to be relieved or depressed.

* * *

Larxene knew of course that her definitions and the OED's didn't really quite match on the matter of self-sufficiency. To the OED, it meant being able to supply one's self. To Larxene it meant not needing other people. It was the same definition taken a step further. She supposed that "independent" was really a more apt word, but she liked the sound of self-sufficiency. 

After all, "childish barriers" worked just as well, but you didn't see her using that. Her diverse ex-lovers however, did see fit to put it to use. Whatever.

When she was a child, she'd heard something on one of her mother's television shows (the kind about how to live better, happier lives) about the Intimacy vs. Isolation crisis. She didn't understand all of what was said, or indeed, most of what was said. What she did get, was that at some point, she would have to make a choice. She thought it over for a day or two, and decided that isolationism seemed like the better option. (When she later learned that that was considered to be the wrong choice, she was too set in her ways and "didn't particularly give a fuck," so she continued to exclude people, it just seemed to make more sense.)

This doesn't go to say that she didn't have any friends, in fact, considering her general demeanor and attitude, she had a surprising number, they understood her, or at least tolerated her; particularly when she came on one of her random visits. Houses were on her list of things that she didn't "believe" in, along with taxes, whales (or Wales), humans as the dominant species, and love (which really just meant sex) without pain, and Truly Beautiful People.

She had the IRS convinced that she believed in taxes, it was fun to play pretend sometimes. She paid her dues to the lemurs; everyone knew they were the ones who were really running things. Any lovers who didn't agree, were promptly abandoned, she was never really _attached_ to them or anything. Truly Beautiful People, she knew were a lie. She'd met a few, or at least ones she'd thought had potential. Then she'd found out they were as hideous as the rest of us and hated them for it. With the exception of one, his name was Marluxia, him she could forgive. (The whales (or Wales) thing hadn't come up yet.)

Houses were easily fixed. She lived with her friends, or lovers, in exchange for household upkeep; which is a nice way of saying cooking and cleaning. She hated the work (with the exception of chopping things in the kitchen, she had a thing about knives), but did it anyway. It was that or come up with an alternative arrangement, which took effort. In addition to bitchy, and slightly sadistic (the two _did_ go together) she was lazy when it came to mundane things like ensuring she didn't spend the night under a bridge or on a bench in the park, she'd done it before, yes, but it was unpleasant enough that she would put in the effort to acquire a roof… most of the time.

* * *

Naminé watched the redhead run off with something that might have been guilt, but probably wasn't. She _did_ want to tell the other girl, or at least she felt the obligation to tell her, but the words just wouldn't come. There really just wasn't a way to work it into the flow of conversation with out, you know, metaphorically throwing a rock the size of China into the ocean. Yeah, that's what it would be like. Splash. Tsunamis (or Really-Really-Big-Ass-Ripples). And then lots of little dead people. 

And Naminé didn't want to kill anyone… in general. She occasionally felt like slapping the condescending clerk at her favorite art store who acted like she couldn't draw because she lacked a penis; but Naminé did not like violence. She'd grown up with a lot of violent people; a lot of those violent people had followed her to University. Some of them had multiplied (like Rabbits) bringing still more violent people into her life. Someone, she reasoned, had to be calm in the middle of all that. Someone, she reasoned further, had to be the one to clean up the metaphorical (or literal) corpses left in the wake of all those violent people.

* * *

Axel was what he liked to call a realist, but what most people would call "complete asshole and dickhead" (it is important to here note that there may not be that much of a distinction between the two). Whichever he was, he was also a slacker; particularly in the area of jobs. 

Axel's main and favorite job was what he fondly referred to as "placebo magick". What he did was sell spells on line. Axel didn't believe in magic(k) or the power of the occult; but other people did, and so for an almost reasonable fee, he would "cast spells" for people over the internet. Or, for a notably less reasonable fee, he would send you a kit so you could cast the spells yourself. The kits were generally baggies of various kitchen herbs labeled with very supercilious-sounding Latin and a list of very complex and roundabout instructions that wouldn't actually get anything done, but would leave you feeling like you'd accomplished a lot.

Because, as he would say after half a bottle of vodka, what the hell else were you going to do with a minor in Latin and a major in Ancient History? (The History didn't have anything to do with that job; it was just that when he complained of having a useless minor, people would always ask him what his major was. It was easier to just get it out of the way.)

He'd majored in History mostly because his parents had told him to "not even think about it" because he'd never get a decent job with that. So of course, he'd done it. And then spent most of his time griping about how he couldn't get a job, so why the hell had he chosen History, and _why hadn't_ _somebody- anybody- said something?_

Larxene had a tendency to throw sharp objects at various soft points of his anatomy when he went on like this. He got better at dodging… eventually.

Whiny, stupid, asshole though he may be, Axel was also sort of, kind of, not really, but maybe, just the littlest bit, not-quite-feasibly but _maybe _just the tiniest bit if you squinted _really hard_ a good friend, kind of. Which explained why when she had to leave Vexen's place a head of the expected time due to an incident with a parakeet, some turpentine, pink glitter and some flour that was IN NO WAY Larxene's fault she found herself pounding on his door at seven in the morning.

He opened the door naked and hung-over. Placebo magicians didn't believe in mornings and had no need for pants; pants were for the plebeians.

She grinned broadly, "Hello, precious! And how are you this morning?" She made sure to speak extra loudly.

He pulled his lips back in a snarl but let her in just the same.

She followed him to the kitchen keeping her eyes pointedly above waist level. A naked Axel was _definitely_ not something she wanted to see, thank you very much. Far too skinny for her taste, "Put some fucking pants on would you? You look awful."

Axel turned and glared to her, his back so slumped it'd put a gorilla to shame, stretching lazily as he scratched himself, "There are many who would disagree with you on that one."

Larxene half-smiled, never a good sign, "Judging from your breath, all they must do is look. Any closer and they'd run screaming for the hills."

He snarled, "Fuck you, sweet cheeks."

"Sounds fab, as long as it's not with you, honeysuckle."

He sloshed a coffee like substance into two chipped white mugs, placebo magician's didn't get paid much either, and passed one to her, "What are you doing here anyway? I'd hoped you were rotting in a ditch somewhere, oh light of my life."

She gulped some and grimaced at the foul taste. "And be parted from your side? Never. There was... an _Incident_ at Vexen's, my sweet."

His ears perked at the word Incident as he perched on the counters edge, legs spread wide for a better view, "An Incident?"

"Put some pants on or I'll chop it off, my sun and stars."

"Parakeets, oh one who glows with beauty and goodness?" He asked as he grabbed a hula skirt hanging from the ceiling fan.

"Might be," she drank more of the bitter liquid, "my lord and personal savior."

He nodded, settling the skirt more comfortably about his hips, "Fucking parakeets," he muttered absently.

* * *

The model was a petit Asian girl with short-cropped black hair that gleamed in the merciless fluorescent lights. She was small, boyish even. Barely present hips and breasts all but hidden by the baggy clothes she'd worn when she entered the room. Naminé had taken her for a boy at first, and she could tell from the shocked look on Kairi's face when the girl had shamelessly dropped her clothes that the redhead was surprised as well. 

But then the professor gave the instruction to begin and the Asian girl ceased to exist in Naminé's world; she was replaced by a network of lines and shades and blocks of color, and that was all that really mattered. The steady scritch-scratch of pencils over the rough practice paper is the only thing that matters. And from the start to the finish, it's so easy to forget she lies to everyone she knows and she hates her life.

* * *

The root of most of Larxene's little idiosyncrasies, like refusal to believe in houses, was based on one fact. She was inconsistent. It was common consensus that the number of things she reliably was from day-to-day could be counted on one hand, perfectly. The list went like this. 

Female (Most of them had no proof, and were, in fact, a bit doubtful. Marluxia was sure.)

Alive (For now at least, it would change one day, but they figured they could count on it for a few more decades at least.)

Bitchy (See as proof: When Demyx made the mistake of showing her the list she ripped it up. They spent hours trying to think of things other than 'female' and 'alive')

Sadistic, or at least perverted in a way that again includes a blood fetish (Marluxia suggested it, no one else wanted to interject.)

Stubborn (An odd trait in one so inconsistent, but she was very stubborn, like her refusal to believe in Truly Beautiful People and whales (or Wales)).

Which is why if anyone told any of their friends that Axel and Larxene had a morning routine they would have laughed at them and called them a crack-whore, or asked them where they got their crack as it was obviously "damn good shit", either way, crack was mentioned. Which really is the only important thing when you come right down to it.

They also would have been wrong. So wrong, and so confident, that they would have bet you their whole life savings on how right they were. And because, in their world, if you don't pay your gambling debts, you get beaten up; they would have paid.

"Breakfast" became a habit after the first few days. Axel would wake around noon, if he felt like getting an early start. Either way, whenever he happened to be getting up, Larxene would coincidentally be starting to cook, which gave him time to shower and whatnot.

There were some who said that Larxene had sensors installed in his room, and that was why she always got the timing right. She offered no explanations. Larxene was above explanations like Axel was above pants, most of the time; he occasionally donned them when he went out in the world. To his frame of mind, the rest of the world just didn't deserve such beautiful sights as his naked self. He was not, as life would have it, above hula skirts.

Larxene didn't ask, a man's hula skirt was his own business. Just as a **WO**man's seemingly endless supply of sugar and caffeine was _her_ own business. (It might be of note that there is no proof that Larxene has ever actually _slept_ in her entire life.)

Whatever the various reasons, Larxene didn't suffer from sleep depravation and the hula skirt stayed. So did its sister, the Catholic School girl skirt, and the leather miniskirt, and all their assorted relatives. Including their cousins the halter tops and the blouses and the lipstick and the mascara.

Axel would never have admitted it, but he liked it when Larxene came to stay. The food improved, the cockroach population decreased and the hula skirt on the kitchen fan happenings were rare; she had a way of putting his things away in a way that still made them findable. Had he commented on this to someone, they would have told him that this probably meant they thought on the same wavelength. And then that someone would have gotten a black-eye or a few broken bones.

But back to the breakfast thing…

One such morning (with Larxene making omelets at the stove in a pair of abandoned-looking cargo shorts she'd found in the back of Axel's closet) something important happened. Someone _new_ came.

He had actually been coming for a while, but we'll get to that later.

"Hello, gorgeous!" Axel sang out, but Lea would be more apt, as he, sorry, _she_ entered the kitchen, buttoning the last few buttons on her blouse. (A blouse which was settled over a distinctly flat chest, Axel didn't like to lie.)

"I dwell in darkness without you my darling," she simpered with a half-curtsey. "You do realize you could probably afford a decent place if you didn't insist on having so many clothes."

"Yes, but then I'd be as grungy as you, who art my fair Erato, inspiring me to works of legend!"

"… whatever. You could just get a job, sweetling," smiled Larxene; such a pretty little bitch.

"Coming from the unemployment Queen, oh Queen of my life."

Larxene snorted in a ladylike fashion (this is fiction, remember?) "I'll get a job if you do."

"Oh, really?" had she been facing her she would have seen the slow smirk spreading across the redhead's face, and then things would have gone very differently. But she wasn't, so they didn't.

She nodded, "I'm willing to sacrifice my abundance of free time to see you squirm over trying to make it in the real world without your chicanery and lies."

"Oh, really?"

"Only for you my redundant love."

"Well," Lea said as she moved to answer the door whose bell had just rung, "Guess you'd best start looking then."

Larxene turned and gave the figure in the door a scathing once over, "And here I'd hoped the Zexmyx had been lying when they said you turned pedo… not like they're ones to talk."

"The Zexmyx, why not the Dexion?"

"Because Zex wears the pants and this way it rhymes with Chex-Mix. I like how you don't even try to deny it. Kind of low, don't you think, abusing school children?"

"Like I need to. Come in, the mean lady'll be gone in a second."

"Right," the figure in the door muttered, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Molestation is _not_ a job, sugar-bunny, it's a _hobby_." Larxene said solemnly as she moved the omelet to a plate. To the figure still hovering in the doorway she added, "You can take some of his if you want. I didn't know Axel was having guests."

"_Axel_ is not having guests, _Lea_ is doing her job. I" she drew herself up to her full height (which was impressive even without heels), "am a tutor."

Larxene stared, Lea _looked_ totally serious. The blonde's lip twitched, then trembled, and she lost control and started cackling.

"Y-you're joking, right?" she asked, straightening up and wiping tears from her eyes.

Lea smiled evilly, "Not in the least."

Larxene's temper flared, "The fuck could _you _possibly teach anyone?"

The smile's evil increased exponentially, "Chemistry."

She rolled her eyes, "Repulsive and depraved, it suits you, darling. And you're out of eggs," with this last she sailed proudly between the two of them (the figure had pretty much just been shifting its weight this whole time) and out the door.

Lea turned her smirk to the blond next to her, "So, Roxas, how you been?"

* * *

Yeah, I have no idea really, it's pretty much just crack. 

Review if you wish, (which you totally should), and there might be more.


	2. More Exposition, with Crack!

Well, I know that all of you, if you're sensible, **weren't expecting a second chapter**. SO, because I am something of a **contrary bitch**, I decided to **spite** you all and your **logical assumptions** and post the **second chapter**, which I've had written for... about a year. The justification is I was going to make it longer, then I decided that, you know, size isn't everything, and decided I may as well post. **Just to spite you all**.

Also, if you're actually reading this, you have no idea how much **I love you**.

* * *

**Chapter 2: More Exposition, with Crack!**

Axel never meant to become a drag queen. Then again, who really dreamed of being a cross-dresser one day at the age of five? He hadn't meant to, but somewhere along his life's path he'd stumbled and landed in a pair of shiny, black stilettos and that had been that. Well, it was less of an accident and more to due with the fact that people tended to accept the occult better from an exotic looking woman, and there really could be no doubt on the matter that, as a woman, Axel looked exotic.

It had started out as a job thing. When placebo magicks and tutoring couldn't pay the bills, Axel bought himself some sparkly scarves and shawls and put an ad in the yellow pages advertising "Card-Reader and Diviner of Prophetic Truths". It was laughably easy. He had a recorded disk of Demyx on his sitar playing some synthed-out, and generally "odd" sounding compositions. (The mohawked bastard had charged him by the hour for the making of it, but it sounded damned good.) That, combined with soft lighting, scarves and drag, and a little speaking in tongues (an eclectic mix of archaic German, Latin and "olde Englishe" with a bit of Russian thrown in for kicks, when he got bored.

* * *

Marluxia. Oh, Marluxia.

If any of Them, and they had become a Them at some point, had ever been asked in what one way they would have described Marluxia Fleur (born Robert James Edwardson) they would have responded something like this.

There is no one way to describe Marluxia Fleur. Marluxia was a whore. Marluxia was a liar. Marluxia could be your savior. He could be your god, if you'd let him. Marluxia was the straightest flaming fairy rainbow-pride queen you could ever meet. Marluxia was fire. Marluxia was ice. Marluxia was sex in a bottle of lust. Marluxia was all any one could ever want, and exactly what no one could ever have.

He always knew what to say, what to wear and where to be. He was a scene-whore; sprinting from trend to trend just to get there first; ephemeral and constant. Marluxia was mist.

Marluxia was a flower, and Marluxia was nothing.

* * *

_"So, I met this guy," Demyx said out of nowhere._

_ "And?" Axel didn't even look up from whatever it was he was working on._

_ "He-he's amazing, just like- _perfect_, you know?"_

_ "No such thing. You do him yet?"_

_ "Feh. And no." Demyx flicked a bottle cap across the polished wooden table of Axels brand spankin' new apartment. It hit Axel's arm and bounced off to the floor. "You're all too damned jaded if you ask me."_

_ "Fine, then tell me what makes him so 'perfect'?" Axel humored his friend._

_ Demyx sighed in the dramatic way of the love sick, "He's just so much-_more_, than me, than everyone. I mean, it's like, I spark, he burns. I splash, he dives. I doodle, he paints. I-" Demyx flings his arms as he makes his declarations._

_ "You microwave, he bakes?" Axel offered helpfully with a straight face._

_ "Exactly. I micro-You're making fun of me, aren't you?"_

_ "You take an inch, he runs a mile? He just walks in, you make him smile, it's cool but you don't even know him?"_

_ "Ok, shut up!" Demyx flung half a cookie at him. _

_ Axel laughed and ducked his head behind a raised arm, "Don't you know it's going too fast!? Racing so hard you know it won't last?!"_

_ "Oh, please, die," Demyx crumpled back into his chair._

_ Axel took a thoughtful bite of the ex-projectile cookie. "Dem, I'm glad you're a drama queen and good at the lyric-writing. But do you actually think anyone is worth spouting bad poetry over? I mean, crushes are fleeting, but bad poetry is forever." Axel put his hand over his heart, all false sincerity with a chipping manicure._

_ Demyx grabbed another cookie, "Sorry, it's just Zexion is so-"_

_ Axel spat out his water. "Zexion? As in Zexion with the emo hair and napoleon complex?"_

_ "Dunno about the napoleon whatever but the emo hair, yeah."_

_ Axel looked kind of like his face was having muscles spasms. His lip kept twitching and it looked kind of like he was crying._

_ But then, with an all but shrieked, "Zexion!" Axel had his head flung back and laughed, shoulders shaking, until his eyes watered a little. _

_ Demyx was at a loss for words, "Um, what?"_

_ "S-sorry," gasped out Axel, as he wiped his eyes, "it's just _Zexion_. He's so- He's- _Zexion_."_

_ "I'm aware of that, thank you very much," Demyx huffed. "You know, Axel, one day you're going to meet someone who makes _you _spout bad poetry, and then I'll be the one laughing."_

_ "Laughing and screwing Zexion," muttered Axel with an utterly unrepentant giggle._

_ "Yes, laughing and screwing Zexion. Probably not at the same time."_

* * *

Larxene and Marluxia were doing their Queen of the Damned thing. An act which had nothing to do with the book/movie (It can easily be argued that the movie has nothing to do with the book as well.), and more to do with the deep belief that between the two of them, they could seduce anyone, anywhere, anytime.

It was something they did, when they were bored, just to prove they could.

Have you ever seen two people so perfectly, disturbingly aligned?

* * *

Naminé kicked the ground angrily. A few months into the new semester and she was already contemplating seppuku. The supply list _lied_, and new supplies cost _money_, and her parents were paying anymore.

And she was pretty sure she was lost.

She kicked with more anger and noticed for the first time how sketchy the neighborhood she was in was.

"Well, fuck," she muttered as the song on her iPod switched to Rape Me. She laughed to herself at the appropriateness and walked a little faster. She still wasn't entirely sure of where she was going, but she was getting there faster.

A man stepped out from the shady opening to one of the many derelict buildings.

He was holding a gun. It was pointed at her.

She stopped walking.

"Erm, hi?" she gave a tentative little wave.

The man-was that an eye patch?- ignored the pleasantries, "Give me your money."

"Are-are you _mugging_ me?" Naminé asked, a little incredulous.

"It sure looks like it, yeah." Yes, that was indeed an eye patch, weird.

She couldn't repress the little bubble of laughter that escaped her lips, "You can't mug me. I'm a student."

He stared at her, single eye narrowed, "C'mon, man, just give me your wallet!"

She shook her head, "No, really. You _can't_ mug me. I'm a _student_. I'm completely broke."

He was starting to look desperate, "Get a job then! Gimme your credit cards!"

"I'm an _art_ student. It wouldn't do you any good."

He was at a loss, "What does _art_ have to do with it?"

Naminé sighed patiently, "Supplies are expensive, a decent brush is, like, one hundred munny."

He drew a breath to interject.

"And then there's boarding fees for my closet of a room and insurance for a car I don't drive, food-which is so overpriced I've been living off Cup Noodle for a month. And _then_ there's _more_ supplies to be bought.

The man lowered the gun slightly, "That sucks man. Don't your parents pay for anything?"

"Tuition, and they wouldn't do that if I didn't work my butt off to keep my scholarship."

The gun lowered a little more and he winced in sympathy, "That really blows, man."

Naminé sighed a martyr-like sigh, "I'm about a week away from mugging people in alleyways myself."

The man with the eye patch brightened up. "You know, if I had a partner, I could stop working alleys and move on to... starbucks' or something. How about I buy you a drink?"

And that is how Xigbar and Naminé became friends.

* * *

Zexion was in his late twenties, with a slight build and navy blue hair. Sadly, this last was not natural and he spent a fortune on dyes each month. Zexion owned a two story music store in the center of town.

His initial desire had been to be a musician himself, but he'd figured out rather early on in life that that simply wasn't going to happen. So he'd stopped torturing the ears of those around him and started to read instead. Things turned out much better that way.

While he still considered it one of life's greatest inequalities that he was so very musically challenged, he'd gotten over it and moved on. Instead, he sponsored local bands he considered to be good enough and helped them move on to bigger and better places in the world of music.

That was how Zexion met Demyx, but that's a story for another day.

The other important thing about Zexion was that he owned and ran a small private company, which is really just a nice way of saying he was the local mob boss.

* * *

Hmm, gigglesnort. I must say, if you've gotten to this point, I really, really love you. Seriously. And if you review I'll build eShrines to you, or just thank you profusely on bended knee. It's all the same really.


	3. Plot?

When I said I was going to update this, I really just **meant** **the once**, but people (very few, but people none the less) (yes, I consider you all to be people) seem to enjoy it (for some sick reason), so I may as well **keep posting**. I mean, I still get **occasional plot bunnies** for this thing so there's really no reason not to. Although I'm pretty sure I swore off KH fanfics not too long ago.

The point of this all being: **Yes, I will update. No, the chapters will not be particularly long or frequent.** I probably won't even edit them that much. Frankly, the title says it all.

However, **I actually enjoy writing this thing** (again, for some sick reason), unlike some _other_ stories I might mention -pointed glare- so I'm bitching mostly for the fun of it.

_**Anyway,**_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Plot?**

Roxas, being a rather intelligent individual, learned much more than Chemistry from his time with Axel. (You may take your minds out of the gutter now.) Mostly, he'd learned not to ask questions that, on second thought, he really didn't want, or need, to know the answer to. Like why sometimes his tutor was male and called Axel and sometimes female and called Lea. Initially, he'd entertained the notion that they might be twins who had gotten the exact same face tattoos just for kicks, which was almost possible, or would be, were it not for the exact same voice and mannerisms.

He'd eventually come to the conclusion that everyone had their quirks and Axel was a damn good Chemistry tutor, and very entertaining besides. And hot, very hot.

* * *

"I'm really not sure about this, Xigbar."

"C'mon, Nam, it'll be fun. Think of the paintbrushes, and the markers, _copic_ markers, and sketchbooks and canvas and-"

"Alright, alright. I'll do it, just stop being so persuasive."

They were sitting in the Starbucks across the street from the Starbucks they were about to rob.

"Right, let's do it!" Xigbar clapped his hands together.

They stepped out of the building and into the alley between that and the McDonald's next door, where they donned hair nets and large sunglasses of the sort made popular by various alcoholic harlots, I mean starlets. That, combined with baggy pullovers and loose jeans, made them suitably nondescript, if very conspicuous.

Preparations complete, they left the alley, waited impatiently at the crosswalk and, finally, entered the other Starbucks.

Xigbar walked in first, Naminé close behind. He reached into his oversized man-purse and withdrew a large shotgun, that somehow fit into the bag, I won't explain how. Naminé took out a pistol.

Xigbar pumped the shotgun, making that really awesome _chik-chik _noise, "This is a- A pistol? Seriously?- Anyway, _this,_ as you might have guessed, is a hold up."

There was silence. Finally, one of the customers, calmly sucking on a white mocha frappacino, said, "And?"

"And?! _And?! _ I said this is a hold up!"

"Well?" said the first customer's female companion, who looked something like a Russian spy, "What do you want _us _to do about it?"

Naminé's eyebrows twitched.

"Yeah," said a fellow in the back as he scratched his head, "This whole "_hold up_" thing isn't really working for me. I think I'll see you guys later."

Xigbar spluttered angrily, "But-but I've got a shotgun!"

"Yes, but you hardly seem prepared to _use _it, do you? How do we know it even works?"

Xigbar's blonde companion strode forward and shoved the barrel of the pistol into the woman's mouth. She pulled back the hammer.

* * *

Zexion stretched languidly, liking the feeling of the sheets against his bare skin.

"That was good," he sighed contentedly.

"Isn't it always?"

"Hmm," he rolled over and sighed again, though for a very different reason this time. "Alright, time for you to go."

"It's barely midnight and your little boyfriend doesn't come back until tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, but I have to clean, change the sheets and disinfect everything you touched."

"Now I know you love me." An eye roll.

"Yeah, well, get out."

"But I thought we had something special," his companion whined with a smirk.

"Out. Now."

The other man pouted, "Can I at least shower first?"

Zexion tried really hard not to roll his eyes and failed, "Fine."

The man slid out of bed and walked naked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. The sound of running water was soon audible. Zexion pulled on pants and got slowly off the bed, eyeing askance his current lover's pants, with the noticeable wallet-bulge. A wallet containing an FBI badge with the name Marluxia Ridiculously-Made-Up-Last-Name. Zexion smirked to himself as he grabbed the spray bottle of disinfectant from under the kitchen sink.

* * *

Should someone ask Demyx what was the best thing he'd ever had to work hard for he would say, quite simply, "Zexion Cardemonde."

He had his answer so neatly prepared because of a fortune cookie he'd gotten the day before he'd met Zexion. It had said, "Working hard to obtain something good is good."

Demyx was not, by and large, a superstitious person, but he had a thing about fortune cookies. And when he met Zexion the next day it all came together.

When he met him he had quickly realized two things.

First, Zexion was a good thing, a very good thing. He'd looked at Zexion and thought, "Hot." He'd talked to Zexion and thought, "Smart." He'd watched Zexion and thought, "I want him." And he did, wanted him in ways that were, and are, illegal in several states.

Also, Demyx noted, he would be very hard to get. He hardly looked at Demyx, seemed like he didn't know what the word "libido" meant, let alone having one, and had an aura that screamed, "I am so straight I put rulers to shame… or I would be if I had a libido."

Still, Demyx appreciated a good challenge and so, with the unknowing encouragement of a fortune cookie, Demyx resolved to make Zexion Cardemonde his.

* * *

If Zexion was going to be honest, he would admit that he hated these things, Demyx's shows. He _hated_ them. The smell of so many people in so small a place, and the music was always too loud. Maybe he was just getting old. He hadn't used to mind things like this.

But it was Demyx, and he did a lot of things for Demyx that he wouldn't do for anyone else, like, cheating aside, commit to a real and true relationship. Commitment was not his thing, at all. He was quite sure he was a creature who worked best alone.

"Having fun?" a voice purred in his ear.

He didn't have to look, "Get away from me, Marluxia."

"Well that's no way to great a friend."

"That's because we're not friends."

Marluxia leaned in closer, "I suppose _lovers_ would be more appropriate."

"What do you want, Marluxia?"

He leaned in closer still, "Just you."

Zexion snorted, somehow he doubted that. "Leave, before I make you."

"And how do you plan to do that, Zexy-boy?"

He was right, damn him to all the nine hells. Zexion could hardly shoot him in public, although the option was tempting and the gun in the back of his belt seemed especially noticeable.

He kept his eyes locked on Demyx. Marluxia followed his gaze, "That him? Huh, didn't think he'd be so… wholesome, stupid hair aside. I thought you liked your men more, well, _manly_.

"The flaw in your logic is that I don't like you."

"Then why do you let me do all those _nasty _things to you?"

_Keep your eyes on the stage, just ignore him._

Marluxia sighed wearily, "Alright, I can tell when I'm not wanted."

Zexion suppressed a bitter and sarcastic retort, keeping to his goal of just ignoring the pink-haired pest. Said pest stood and kissed Zexion fondly on the cheek. His face burned, damn him, damn him to hell.

At least Demyx hadn't seen. He was too busy basking in the crowd's worship to watch his boyfriend seated at one of the back tables where he'd be out of the way and away from the crowd. If he didn't know full well of Marluxia's occupation, Zexion would probably request for Lexaeus to do a discreet little job for him. Bodyguards were so useful. And speak of the devil,

"Do you want me to break his neck?"

Zexion sighed fondly at the thought, "No, not today at least, that would cause problems, far too many problems."

* * *

_"The man's a fucking iceberg!" Demyx yelled as he slammed the door behind him. "No!" Demyx corrected himself, "Iceberg's are big, he's an ice cube! No! A snowflake!"_

_Axel glanced up from where he was playing solitaire at the kitchen table. "Who's a snowflake?"_

_"Zexion _fucking_ Cardemonde, that's who!" Demyx yelled with a childish little foot-stomp._

_"He didn't call?" _

_"What _calling_? He won't even _talk_ to me, let alone this _calling_ business."_

_Axel frowned and blinked several times, meaning he was thinking, "You've expressed your interest?"_

_"In as many ways as I know how! And then some!"_

_"How did you express your interest in ways you don't know?"_

_"I guessed, I made it up, I-I- What the hell is wrong with me?!"_

_"What's wrong with _you_? "What's wrong with _him?"_ is a far better question. He-"_

_"What? My boyish charms are so wonderful I can seduce anyone? Clearly the fault is with me and my lack of seduction abilities." Demyx dropped into a chair and put his feet up onto the table, screwing up Axel's card game._

_"Nooo, I'd say it's him. He's deviating from his pattern."_

_"Pattern?"_

_"Yeah, little Zexy-boy is chock full of issues, unhealthy childhood, most like. Anyway, normally when someone expresses interest he buys them a drink or two, goes back to their place, screws them senseless and then never ever talks to them again."_

_"He does?"_

_Axel nodded sagely, he had, after all, known Zexion since kindergarten. They'd never liked each other, but they'd remained in each other's lives none the less. "Like I said, _issues_."_

_Demyx sat up excitedly. He banged a hand on the table, "He loves me!" _

_Axel stared at him, "I- Er- What?"_

_Demyx stood up and began to pace, "Clearly, the fact that he's "deviating from his pattern" means that he loves me! It's like fate or something! Haha, love conquers all!"_

_Axel began picking up his scattered playing cards, "That, or he just doesn't think you're worth screwing."_

_Demyx stared at him with an expression like unto a kicked puppy._

_"I mean it's just an _option_. I, personally, think that you are correct, love conquering all and all that." He kept his eyes carefully fixed on the cards in his hands._

_Demyx was too busy doing a victory dance of sorts to notice, or care.

* * *

_

Xigbar's blonde companion strode forward and shoved the barrel of the pistol into the woman's mouth. She pulled back the hammer.

"He _said_ that this is a fucking hold up! We've got guns, we're psychotic-"

"Well, _she's_ psychotic," Xigbar muttered to himself. No one heard.

"-and we're damn well willing to shoot some people!" She extracted the gun from the woman's mouth and pointed it at the emo boy with badly dyed hair and a nose stud behind the register. "Now give us your damned money… and a rice krispie treat."

"Ooh, make that two!" Xigbar cut in.

* * *

Despite my anti-editing comment, I would be very appreciative, were anyone to point out any hideously egregious errors to me.

... I like rice krispie treats.

I would be very, very happy were you to review.


	4. On the Subject of Old Friends

While aware of the fact that if I wait a few more days, it will be exactly a year since I last updated, I'm in a posting mood. Too bad, I suppose.

* * *

**Chapter 4: On the Subject of Old Friends**

"So I'm thinking of doing a cover of Love Story. By Taylor Swift, you know?" Demyx commented airily. The blond was lying on his back on the bed he was currently sharing with Zexion. The former was staring at the ceiling; the latter typing busily at his laptop.

It took him a few seconds to answer, Demyx was accustomed to this.

"I do not know and I'm not sure I wish to."

"Zex, you work in a music store. You guys play music _constantly_, how do you not know that song?"

A few seconds later and the supremely sarcastic reply was, "Well, um, like, we only play, like, _good_ music."

"You haven't even heard the song!" Demyx sat up to point an accusing finger at his boyfriend.

"Nor do I-"

_"Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting all that's left to do is run." _Here he scooted closer to Zexion and hooked one hand around the back of his neck, "_You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess, it's a love story, baby, just say-"_

"Stop?"

"_Yeeeeees."_

Zexion stared at him icily for a few seconds, "Demyx, for the sake of our relationship, which I've grown to enjoy despite my best efforts to the contrary, I would request that you never do that again."

Demyx pouted, "Zexion, I love you, but would it kill you to _not_ act your age?"

Zexion winced internally. He was rather sensitive to the fact that he was four years older, it made him feel a bit like a cradle-robber. "I'm not willing to find out. Are you?"

"Fine, fine. Fair point." Demyx flumped down to lie on his back again with his head on Zexion's thigh. "What if I replaced the "Romeo"s with "Zexion"s?"

Zexion thought it over for a second, "No, still nauseating. And besides, I'm assuming the name "Juliet" is used at some point, and your name is only two syllables so it doesn't work. Unless you get your name changed and I'm told that requires a lot of forms and paperwork."

"Tempting, but no," Demyx concluded easily.

Zexion nodded in a self-satisfied manner and quietly opened his iTunes and deleted Love Story from his music library.

**

* * *

**

"Naminé, you were _amazing_," slurred Xigbar; he was on his sixth beer.

The girl in question, who was on her second Shirley Temple, nodded amiably and decided not to tell her companion that he'd already said that. After all, it clearly hadn't worked the last time. Or the time before that.

"I mean, the way you shoved your pistol in that woman's face-"

"Could you keep your voice down? We're kind of in public. And we're _criminals_, we're probably on the news right now…." Naminé trailed off with a dreamy smile on her face. This was the most exciting thing to ever happen to her.

**

* * *

**

"Mob boss" is perhaps too strong a term. Apart from a minor interest in drugs, prostitution and assorted financial deviancies most of what Zexion did was quite above board. (And most of the former group took place in the neighboring city.)

Maybe "local" was the inappropriate word, "mob boss" was decent enough when you

thought about it. Regardless, Zexion did more work keeping Beast's Castle in good working order than corrupting the young or whatever it is mob bosses are supposed to do.

**

* * *

**

"_Are you _sure_ you left it in here?" Zexion asked tiredly as he stood up and brushed a piece of hair out of his face._

"_Yes. I am sure." Demyx totally would have lied about something like this to get more time with the shorter man, but as it was… he didn't have to. He really had lost his wallet somewhere and was reasonably certain it was within the confines of the back office section of Zexion's store._

_Zexion nodded irritably, he hadn't expected the blond's story to change after all and surveyed the room, half-hoping the wallet would jump up and start doing the can-can so the blond could take it and leave. _

_It didn't._

_Demyx made a muffled sound of displeasure in his throat and dragged the toe of his sneaker along the tile floor as he shifted location. "Oh, narf!" He bent swiftly and picked up the black leather object._

_Zexion frowned at him disgustedly. "Narf?" he said at last._

"_Yeah, narf. You know, like, Pinky and the Brain, that old kid's show. People used to make stupid jokes about how I was Pinky. I guess I wasn't the most focused kid in high school – Anyway, they kept saying that I really needed to find myself a brain. Pun intended, heh."_

…

"_Why the hell are you looking at me like that?"_

**

* * *

**

She probably shouldn't have let Xigbar talk her into switching from Shirley Temples to liquor, but being around a drunk when sober wasn't a particularly wonderful experience, and so she had.

And that was why Rapture's patrons soon bore witness to the sight of a slightly flushed Naminé half-stumbling out on to the dance floor around one in the morning on a school night.

She really should have let herself do this sooner, it was actually pretty… fun.

It probably had something to do with her dance partner. She wasn't sure where he'd come from, but she was sure she didn't want him to leave.

She wasn't exactly partial to guys, but he was just so damned gorgeous, easily the most attractive person she'd ever seen in real life.

It was probably the alcohol, because pink hair just shouldn't be appealing, maybe it was the striking contrast with the distinctly masculine face and body, maybe-

It didn't matter; she just liked the feel of his hands on her hips.

**

* * *

**

"_I don't like you."_

_ Zexion didn't turn from the sink where he was absentmindedly doing dishes. It's not like he needed to look to identify the speaker, even before Axel had spoken. (This was before the birth of Lea.)_

_ "I'm sorry to hear that."_

_ "And that right there is why I don't like you," Axel continued as he strode further into the kitchen, away from the sounds of their friends' (Demyx's friends, not Zexion's) chatter. "You are such a fucking prick." For all his anger, he kept his voice down._

_ Zexion set a cleaned and rinsed plate in the drainer before turning to face the redhead. "Kindly get to the point so you can stop wasting time. I know you don't like me and I don't like you. Why are we discussing this?"_

_ Axel leaned against the counter and clenched his jaws shut for a long moment before gritting out, "But Demyx does, damned if I know why."_

_ "Again, something we both know." Zexion dried his hands on the towel hanging from the handle on the oven door._

_ Axel bit back a snarl and forced himself to continue in as calm a tone as he could manage, "And because Demyx is one of my best friends, damned if I know why 'cause he can be such a little drama queen, and so, I'm willing to… _pretend_. That is, I'll try to forget we've known each other since we were five."_

_ The statement didn't seem finished to Zexion, but Axel wasn't speaking anymore. Zexion considered the offer. A large part of him wanted to reject it and the outstretched hand, but he was practical enough to realize that was dumb. He wanted this thing with Demyx to work. Or at least, if it was going to end, it would be because Zexion wanted it to, nothing to do with a meddling redhead._

_ He forced a smile and shook the not-yet manicured hand._

**

* * *

**

Marluxia was enjoying himself, but Marluxia was pretty much always enjoying himself. Enjoying himself was simply what Marluxia did. It was something of a talent, or so he liked to think.

And happy as he was with the current situation, he knew he was going to have stop enjoying himself in the next few minutes or else things that even he would regret would happen.

There were three things that were made quite clear by the way the cute little blonde was kissing him; (a) she was drunk and (b) a clumsy kisser which meant she was (c) almost definitely a virgin.

Sleeping with drunk virgins was not a thing Marluxia did.

And so, with a slight feeling or regret, he removed her hands from around his neck, kissed her slowly one last time, and pulled away.

She stared at him, lips trembling, "Was – was I bad?" Definitely a virgin.

"No. No, sweetheart, you were fine. But you're also very drunk."

"Oh," she looked down.

"Did you come here with a friend, sweetheart?" He kept his tone soft and gentle, drunks were prone to abruptly shifting emotions. That could be problematic in this kind of circumstance. He had learned that from experience.

"Who'd you come here with? Can you point them out to me?"

**

* * *

**

_Children can be a bit like wolves and on the first day of kindergarten Axel was well on his way to establishing himself as the Alpha._

_He'd spent the morning ice breaker eyeing his rivals and future minions. And ignored everyone else. During snack time he'd sufficiently cowed two of his three competitors with angry stares over his juice box. Five minutes into recess he was in a duel with the remaining candidate surrounded by a ring of cheering boys circled more loosely by the girls who were interested but were doing their best to pretend they weren't._

_The fight was soon over. Axel was King._

**

* * *

**

"You called," Demyx responded to Larxene's grunt as he entered her room, that is, Axel's guestroom.

"Oh. Yeah." Larxene ruffled the hair on the back of her head, fluffy with sleep (even she slept sometimes), not slick with… whatever. "Wasn't that last night? Whatever, I need-

"Did your boobs get bigger?"

"_What_?" She sits up suddenly to reinforce the word.

Demyx toes a bra on the floor with his dirty sneaker.

Larxene stares at it for a long moment. "That's not mine. Demyx, did you honestly think I would wear something so… _floral_?"

"Well, no-"

"It must belong to whatserface."

"I thought you were straight again."

Larxene waves a hand airily, "You know how these things change."

Demyx was actually pretty sure that for most people sexual orientation was a constant.

"And anyway, I didn't have sex with her. She was too drunk to remember where she lived and couldn't find Xigbar, who she apparently came with, I need to have words with that man, so irresponsible, but _anyway_-"

"Larxene!"

"Right, sorry. Long story short, I woke up beside a lovely and very confused blonde this morning. Not at all a bad way to start the day, beside an attractive person. Anyway, I need-"

"Tell me about it, I wake up next to Zexion everyday," Demyx grinned smugly.

Larxene forced a smile, "Right. Back to what I called you about-"

"He's pretty great, isn't he?"

It wasn't that Larxene didn't like Demyx, it was that Demyx could be really fucking annoying.

"Yes, he's-"

"I just wish he and Axel could get along better."

Larxene pulled back her legs just in time to keep them from being crushed by Demyx as he flopped down on her bed.

"You went to college with them, right? Do you know _why _they-"

"As far as I know," Larxene did not feel guilty in the least about interrupting him. She might as well appease him, maybe then he'd finally let her ask him about what she'd called him here for, "the chronology of their relationship is like this -

**

* * *

**

_**October 27**__**th**__**, Axel and Zexion's senior year of high school**_

_Axel doesn't bother hurrying as the final bell of the day rings out overhead. He's feeling good. He's just finished talking to the coach, why he's still in the locker room, if he keeps it up, that sports scholarship should be his._

_Whistling, he saunters over to his locker to find he isn't as alone as he thought he was._

"_You're in a good mood," Zexion comments after a few second's awkward eye contact. At this point in their lives, they're at the point where idle chit-chat is appropriate, and the locker room was too eerily quiet._

"_Had a good day," Axel says simply, opening the combination lock on his locker._

"_Mm," Zexion agrees uninterestedly. That had been enough conversation._

_They finish packing up at the same time, a few more seconds of awkward eye contact and - Later neither would be able to say who moved first or who did what; who wound up with shoulder blades protesting being shoved uncomfortably against a locker hinge, who was the one to hiss "don't kiss me, bastard", or who wound up '_on top_'. _

_No names passed through either set of lips._

_Both would agree that Zexion was the first to stand and pick his pants off the floor and Axel was the one who would ask in an unbearably husky voice, "Were you a virgin?"_

"_At some point, yes," Zexion would answer after a second's awkward pause. "At the start of eighth period, no."_

_And Axel would nod and wish that the locker room didn't have smoke alarms because he'd be dying for a cigarette. He wouldn't ask the questions of '_who_' or '_when_' or say that, at the start of eighth period, _he_ had. And Axel would be starting to wonder if maybe there was something to that theory he'd always considered sappy and dumb; that maybe losing your virginity was something you should do with someone you cared about, not that guy you'd known since kindergarten and with whom you'd eternally be in an odd limbo between hatred and disdain._

**

* * *

**

- met in kindergarten, hatred-slash-dislike-but-in-an-almost-friendly-way until their senior year, at which point they started screwing, even though they didn't like each other. They kept that up, off and on, for-"

"Wait, _what?" _The air whistled as Demyx sat up.

Larxene made an 'oh shit' face of epic proportions. "I thought – You didn't – They never-"

"Axel and Zexion… had _sex_?" his voice cracked like it hadn't in years. Hell, his voice had _never_ cracked that bad.

"Erm, yes?"

"They – Oh, god - I'm so – I think I –"

Larxene hadn't known that the human face could change so drastically so many times in so few seconds.

"I have to go," Demyx concluded abruptly, leaving the apartment with a slammed door.

Larxene immediately thought of two things. The first was that she'd never had a chance to ask Demyx about a job, why she'd called him in the first place; the second was that it was profoundly fortunate that Axel wasn't home.

She stayed upright for a few seconds, blinking. She then shrugged and fell back onto the pillows, adjusting herself until she was fully ready to go right back to sleep.

It occurred to her maybe she should call Zexion and warn him, but she decided that he could deal with this on his own. It was not her issue, how was she supposed to have known that neither Axel or Zexion had seen fit to mention that detail of their shared history to Demyx.

**

* * *

**

_**October 27**__**th**__**, Axel and Zexion's senior year of high school**_

_Axel doesn't bother hurrying as the final bell of the day rings out overhead. He's feeling good. He's just finished talking to the coach, why he's still in the locker room, if he keeps it up, that sports scholarship should be his._

_Whistling, he saunters over to his locker to find he isn't as alone as he thought he was._

"_You're in a good mood," Zexion comments after a few second's awkward eye contact. At this point in their lives, they're at the point where idle chit-chat is appropriate, and the locker room was too eerily quiet._

"_Had a good day," Axel says simply, opening the combination lock on his locker._

"_Mm," Zexion agrees uninterestedly. That had been enough conversation._

_They finish packing up at the same time, a few more seconds of awkward eye contact and – Axel would be the one to wave a hand and say "later"._

**

* * *

It was a well-known fact, at least between the two of them, that the fact that she was Demyx's cousin was the lesser reason as to why Zexion tolerated Naminé. The greater was just that she smelled really, really good. Usually.**

Today she just reeked of oil paint.

Still, she reeked a little less than most Monday afternoons, maybe she'd found a less awful brand of cheap medium, thank god for small wonders.

It was probably a sad thing that Zexion was more aware of the longevity of his relationship with Demyx by how accustomed to Naminé he was growing, rather than Demyx's continual presence.

And so it was that when Naminé entered his office on this particular Monday he merely nodded and smiled faintly because that was how he always greeted her on Mondays and she visited every Monday.

This Monday had evidently decided to be different.

For one thing, his smile was marginally bigger than normal. What? Even Zexion had good moods.

"Is something wrong?" he asked finally, smile dying, after staring at her for what felt like a while.

She continued to stare at him uncertainly from the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

"I think I fucked up really bad, Zex."

"What-" he closed the drawer of the filing cabinet he'd been digging through prior to her visit.

"Let's talk about it over lunch. I'll pay."

That was when Zexion knew something was horribly wrong with the universe and his good day was over. Naminé, like any good college student, did _not_ offer to pay for lunch.

He grabbed his coat and followed her out the door with a sense of impending doom.

* * *

Please review if you enjoyed it.


End file.
